I kept one. I didn't - undo them all. I made myself stop, in case - in case I needed something, later.

[He doesn't pull back, or let go with his right hand. But his left slips down into his pocket to come out with something. When he opens his hand there's a strip, about two inches long, of paper woven together. The weave is tight and neat, meticulous, but the paper itself is old: brittle and faded, bright colors overlaid with black sharpie, sharpie rubbed away to show the original colors again in places.]